


You're A Useless Child

by alleycatforthelulz



Series: Y O U   C A N ' T   R U N [1]
Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: (srsly what is Info and Russ because I have theories and I want answers), Everyone Dies and No One is Happy, I based this off a song but it grew into something more and now I have a mini-series planned out, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Or as close as you can get when you consider how Russ and Info work, Other, RIP me and everyone from End Roll, Self-Hatred, Suicide, The Info-Is-Russell's-Guilt-and/or-Consciousness Theory (TM), There's an abuse mention about Russ's (and Info's???) parents but nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleycatforthelulz/pseuds/alleycatforthelulz
Summary: Russell is a useless child.
 
(He's such a useless child.)
 
  They are such useless children.





	

**Author's Note:**

> /crosses my fingers in hopes that my characterization is right
> 
> so I have two feelings for this fic: satisfaction at how it came out and utter loathing at what a pile of garbage it is. take your pick.
> 
> I tried to make it apparent how when Info's mood changes it changes how he calls Russell (from Russell to useless child to useless corpse or just corpse or child) but if it's confusing i'll change it.

Russell is a useless child.

He has known that since birth. Mother always complained about how it was unfair someone so young had to look after a child like him and Dad only spoke to him to either scream accusations in his face or ask for another beer. So, Russell is useless child.

The Informant knew that well. And because he knew that well, it only fell to him, the last piece of the true Russell, to educate and protect the lumbering corpse that useless child had become.

After all, it’s not like any of the other corpses can teach that useless ~~child~~ corpse. The Informant was the best “person” for the job and was the most important one in this dream. He was Russell’s game guide and how was that useless ~~child~~ corpse going to get anywhere without his beloved game guide?

From the beginning, Russell had willingly sought him out when the useless ~~child~~ corpse was stuck on what to do or where to go. The Informant was all too eager to assist with bitter barbs and the dirty truth. (His heart had nearly stopped when ~~Russell~~ the useless ~~child~~ corpse had been pushed off the roof. Even he wasn’t sure if ~~Russell~~ the useless ~~child~~ corpse could survive something like that.)

It was easy to stand on the sidelines and offer advice during the first few days, as callous as the advice might be. But it was tedious and boring, and the Informant could only read ~~destroy because he was the best and Russell did need any other book~~ so many books before that, too, became tedious and boring.

(He ignored the screams that sounded like monkeys and angels from the storybooks; the wails from the magazines as they crumbled to ash and drifted down to the floor way below; the once strong-voiced textbooks reduced to unanswered questions like, “Cody? Cody where are you?” and “What are you doing out so late?;” and the quiet sobs from the dictionaries that reminded him of the times the doctor would wake up in the middle of the night calling for “Grandpa.”

He, _the Informant_ , didn’t kill them. It was all Russell. The Informant was simply taking out competition because he was a game guide and a game guide was the only book Russell needed. Besides, you can’t kill books. Books aren’t human.

**I T  W A S N ’ T  H I S  F A U L T .** )

It’s on Day Six when Russell changes everything. From what he’s heard from his enclosed spot from the villagers that visit (though he wishes they won’t but they do and something ugly curls in his chest  **N O T  H I S  F A U L T** ), Yumi had issued a stakeout to catch the monster that has been running around the village.

(The stench of beer burns the back of his throat and he wills himself not to throw up. Monster is a kind word to call it, Dad would be a better descriptor.)

The Informant knows that Russell will have to face the monster tonight. He also knows that Russell will choose someone to go to the Festival with him and that someone will become the one to break him of this dream. The Informant is a game guide. It’s only natural that he knows how to beat the game.

(But the credits never stop rolling in this game called Life. They keep rolling and rolling and rolling until the next main character shows up and makes their own story. It’s funny, though, that he gets the feeling that their credits aren’t going to be as nice or kind as other games.

They’re not going to get a “Happy Ending.” But then again, who says they deserve it?)

The Informant waits patiently for Russell to shamble in with the barest hint of dislike in his eyes. He knows that the useless ~~child~~ corpse won’t know what to do because he is not a people person. Russell was able to solve The Guide-Selling Old Lady’s Tower but unable to figure out that he had to take someone to the Festival. Truly, what a useless child—corpse.

In that moment, Russell shambles in the door with the barest hint of dislike in his eyes, like he had predicted. It’s the casual way the corpse approaches him, the hidden emotion lurking in the corpse’s eyes that he can’t identify, the blink-and-you’ll-miss eyes that cover the corpse’s body that give the Informant pause.

“…what’s up with you?” he asks. He doesn’t even notice how he forgoes his usual greetings. Russell doesn’t give him an answer but then again, he doesn’t expect the corpse to. Russell has never been very big on words.

That’s why when the words, “Let’s go to the Festival together,” slip out of Russell’s mouth, the Informant is shocked into silence. It’s interesting, in a way, how their roles are reversed by six insignificant words.

“What?” the Informant finally asks once he gets over his bewilderment. The corpse stares at him with dead eyes but there’s a hint of amusement in them. He looks like he wants to smile. He’s never seen Russell smile before.

“Let’s go to the Festival together,” the ~~corpse~~ child repeats and holds out his hand. The Informant stares at it uncomprehendingly.

This isn’t how the game goes.

Russell eventually tires of this waiting game and grabs the Informant’s hand. The touch shocks the game guide out of his staring and protests spill from his lips even as he’s pulled out the door and through the Dozing Forest. For some reason, he can’t let go of Russell’s hand.

The Pengi that was guarding the entrance to the Festival gives them a cheery wave as they enter the festivities. This was wrong, the Pengi should be stopping them. The game wasn’t supposed to allow anyone other than the villagers to accompany Russell.

It’s only when a stray Kelpie comes up to him and asks him how he’s enjoying the Festival that the reality comes crashing down on him. The Informant wants to scream, to run away from this sickeningly cheerful Festival and from ~~Russell~~ ~~the corpse~~ ~~the useless child~~ the _thing_ that brought him here. It’s not right, not right, not right at all.

Russell must notice this because he looks just as out of place as the Informant and takes his hand again, gentler, somehow. They visit the little stands and buy ice cream and other treats. They dance with the Kelpies and talk with the other festival-goers and if Russell avoids a fortune-telling stand then the Informant doesn’t mention it. They laugh and have fun without realizing it and by the time the day is ending, after they’ve found the torch for the Chief Kelpie, the Informant realizes that he’s never heard Russell laugh either. He’s never heard himself laugh.

He wants to burn these events in his memory but he knows that they’ll only grow twisted and corrupted within this dream. The girl at the Deepsea Hotel could attest to that.

It’s when they’re walking back, hands sticky with melted chocolate and strawberry ice cream and salty sea spray, when everything shatters. A black mass races in front of them, dripping noxious puddles along the way, cackling about, “ **Yumi, Yumi, my dear Yumi…** ” and the Informant has never been sicker in his life.

Russell doesn’t even look shocked with eyes as dead as ever and the Informant’s blue eyes (when had they changed back? He doesn’t know and it terrifies him) turn a poisonous green as he glares at the corpse. (It wasn’t fair that Russell didn’t have to feel anything while he felt everything, wasn’t fair, he was  **J E A L O U S** **.** ) His white shirt turns a dark black ( **Y O U  C A N  N E V E R  R U N  F R O M  Y O U R  S I N S**  ) and the pleasant smile he had on his face (when had he last smiled like that?) melts away into a biting smirk.

“Ah, isn’t it about time we ended this farce?” the Informant bites out rhetorically. He doesn’t expect an answer. The corpse doesn’t give one and merely shambles after Dad.

He doesn’t follow because of some misguided attempt to protect the corpse or anything. It’s because the game demands that there be someone there with Russell that he goes. And if he throws beer bottles harsher than usual, then it was only a trick of Russell’s imagination. They chase Dad to the Nest and defeat him. It should make him feel something, at least, but there’s only a hollow numbness when he can only shrug to Yumi’s statement, “I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

The corpse is staring at him with dead blue eyes and the Informant has never felt the need to crawl out of his skin until now. There’s something wrong with him and he doesn’t know what and it scares him because what use is a game guide if they can’t guide you?

He wants to scurry home but Russell falls against him and Yumi is worriedly asking if he can take the corpse home because she has to report back to the Mayor. He begrudgingly helps the corpse “home” and practically dumps him on his doorstep.

A shy tug at his sleeve stops him and he snaps, without even looking back, “I thought we agreed that it was time to end this farce. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about this. You can’t go back and fix things, now can you?”

The tugs become more incessant and when he finally whirls around the breath is knocked out of him from the sad blue eyes that gaze at him. He’s never seen Russell when he was sad, either. Eyes cover the ~~useless~~ child and he can’t make out what is being whispered all around him ( ** _Your Guilt Level is __, your Guilt Level is ___** ) and he doesn’t resist when the other pulls him into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Russell whispers and he feels something in the dream break but he doesn’t know what. Russell turns on heel and enters his house and his fingers brush the back of his white shirt as the door closes. He’s left wanting to hold the sad boy in his arms a little while longer as he trudges back to the inforMashun shop.

(He visits Seaside again, before Russell comes back to the dream. Everything is corrupted and the colors are noxious and the air is dismal. The dream is ending so they are ending and everything has become unneeded. He visits other places like Darcover Town and Dragon’s Peak but it’s the same, overrun with monsters, ending.

The dream is ending and he is ending and for some unknown reason he yearns for that little bit longer that he had so ignorantly scoffed.)

The Informant decides to spend the day in the Book Graveyard rather than the inforMashun shop. The books here don’t confuse him or make him feel weird things. They fear him and know their place beneath him. (The books here don’t hug him or laugh with him or grab his hand so gently as they play at the Festival.)

~~Russell~~ The corpse shouldn’t be able to get in the Book Graveyard. He’ll need the password, which the Informant has protected so greatly that only death could pry it from him. There’s no way the corpse, even if he is dead, would be able to know it.

Russell shambles in with the barest hint of like in his eyes and the Informant wants to throw up. This time, it’s Russell who speaks first as he asks, “Do you want to Play together?” None of the other villagers are with him.

He agrees and mercilessly destroys the corpse. Russell merely leaves the room and comes back stronger, more capable. He destroys the ~~corpse~~ child once again but he gets the feeling Russell isn’t going to give up that easily. (He can’t help but notice how Russell wears the black shirt he left beside his bed or that, even when it was his last health item, Russell refuses to eat the chocolate ice cream that he had also given him. Something tells him that this means something while something else just curls up and dies.)

It’s on the third time, during the middle of an attack (he hurls the beer bottle with an anger that only reminds him of Dad and something inside him breaks further), when Russell catches him off guard. The embrace is soft and gentle and Russell’s HP sits at 1/??? and the tears that soak his shirt feel strangely cold against his neck.

“Sorry,” Russell mumbles in his neck. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix things,” he retorts but there’s no bite to his word and his arms tug the child closer without his permission. He wonders if this is how insanity feels like, having to comfort your own self.

( _Russell was his and no one else’s, Russell was **his and no one else’s.**_ )

The fight ends there and Russell leaves to defeat Mother. The Informant lingers in the Graveyard and listlessly wanders around. The torn and shredded books catch his attention and though he knows he can’t save ~~the villagers~~ them because they are already ~~dead~~ gone, he still gathers the pieces in his hand in a hopeless attempt to try and fix things.

(Maybe he and Russell aren’t so different. But then again, why would they ever be? They are such useless children. He ponders the epiphany that he has never seen Russell cry for longer than necessary.)

Russell doesn’t visit him until after he defeats the Nest. The Informant is impressed that Russell didn’t even need his prompting to come to his shop but something weighs low in his stomach, tight and ready to strike.

“I killed everyone,” Russell says and his no longer dead blue eyes, his sad blue eyes burn the Informant’s soul (does he have one?). Eyes cover his body again and this time he knows that it’s not a trick of his imagination.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he sneers at the child but his voice is shaky. He doesn’t know where this is going, this event is unscripted.

“I killed everyone,” Russell says again and the room around them contorts and transforms into the plain medical room that was the so-called “home” Russell lived in. A simple bed sits in the middle of the room and an empty syringe rests on a nearby table.

“Good morning, deranged maniacs!” the chipper voice of the nurse that greets ~~them~~ Russell every morning screeches. The vowels are more pronounced and some sounds are drawn out longer than necessary and he can’t tell what’s corrupted and what’s not anymore.

“I killed everyone,” Russell seems to have turned that phrase into a mantra. He steps in front of the Informant and bares his neck. The syringe sits heavily in his hand (when had it gotten there?) and words stick in his throat.

“You know this doesn’t change the fact that you killed everyone, right? You know that this doesn’t change the fact that nobody can be saved, right?” The books scream in the background of his mind.

“I killed everyone,” Russell breathes and closes his eyes, awaiting judgement. He swallows.

The first stab is hesitant, for all the loathing built up behind it, and doesn’t do more than pierce the throat. There’s a small hole left behind when he pulls the needle back out and it bleeds profusely but they both know it’s not what either wants. The next is harsher, more hate-filled, and blood gushes and tissue tears.

It’s not until he spots his reflection in the syringe (blue eyes filled with tears, white shirt stained with red) that he finally takes notice of the unmoving body beneath him (a sad smile on a corpse’s face, eyes closed, black shirt wet but no darker, eyes covering his body) and he retches, heaves up an empty stomach as the vertigo of killing himself sets in and the dream shatters with a finality that leaves his head spinning.

* * *

The Informant doesn’t so much as wake up as he grows aware of his surroundings. He is back in the plain medical room again but this time Russell stands nearby, listening to the chipper nurse talk about how he’s become rehabilitated and what a great new chance this is.

Something dark inside him tells him that there is no great new chance waiting for them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches glimpses of the other villagers. They’re glitching back and forth between their ‘Happy Dream’ state and their real state, bloody and broken. They are all screaming the same thing, though, “Russell no! No, don’t, please…!” and the needle has already stabbed itself viciously down once, twice.

He cries, “NO!” and blue eyes become green because it’s not fair, **_not fair_** that Russell gets a way out when he’s trapped here, uselessly screaming into the void. Russell has found his escape but he’s _still here_ and jealousy consumes him. (He had finally come back to Russell, why did the child do that? Was he not good enough? He is a useless child.)

Eyes cover the boy’s body and ~~Guilt~~ the Informant can finally make out what the whispers mean.

**_Your Guilt Level is 75, your Guilt Level is 75…_ **

His eyes widen because there is no way that Russell’s Guilt Level is that high, it’s not possible, when the corpse turns around with dying words on his lips:

“The game is broken.”

**_+5 Guilt_ **

The Informant wakes up with a start on the couch in the inforMashun shop. Sweat trickles down his back and he shivers, trying to calm his pounding heart. He didn’t know that you could dream in a dream, or that a part of dream could dream inside a dream. It was all metaphysical nonsense in the end but a whisper ( ** _Your Guilt Level is 80, your Guilt Level is 80…_** ) sounds in the back of his mind and he can’t shake the feeling that maybe this meant something.

He walks outside in time to see Russell leave to Dozing Forest and the sadness in those blue eyes freezes him in place. But Russell doesn’t stop, only pausing to give him a sad smile before continuing on. It was just a dream, just a dream.

(It doesn’t matter in the end, anyway, because by the next day the dream has collapsed and Russell has killed himself again and what useless children they are to be stuck in this self-fulling loop. The Informant wakes up in his shop again and wonders when this new hell will end. The credits won’t stop rolling, the credits won’t stop rolling…)

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for 'what's up with Russ,' more at five.


End file.
